


UKFR compilation: Roses and Tea

by MangaBitch



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Adorable, Affection, America being America (Hetalia), Anal Sex, Anger, Apologies, Attempted Seduction, Autumn, Bathtubs, Biphobia, Bisexual France, Bisexual Male Character, Bisexuality, Blushing, Bottom France (Hetalia), Boys Kissing, Breakfast in Bed, Bubble Bath, Bullying, Canon Gay Relationship, Chicken Soup, Childhood Friends, Childhood Sweethearts, Childishness, Coffee Shops, Comfort, Comfort Reading, Confrontations, Cosplay, Couch Cuddles, Cute, Dirty Thoughts, Drunk England (Hetalia), Drunkenness, Early Mornings, Embarrassment, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, England Needs Tea (Hetalia), Established Relationship, Exhaustion, Feels, Fever, Flirting, Flowers, Fluffy Ending, France Being France (Hetalia), Gay, Gay England, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Gentle Sex, Gentleness, Gift Giving, Haircuts, Harassment, Holding Hands, Hugs, Husbands, I Made Myself Cry, I Ship It, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Insults, Intimacy, Jealousy, Late at Night, Lazy Mornings, Lies, Loneliness, Long-Distance Relationship, Love, Love Bites, Loving Marriage, M/M, Married Couple, Married Life, Massage, Medicine, Men Crying, Mentioned America (Hetalia), Mentioned Canada (Hetalia), Mentioned Prussia (Hetalia), Mentioned Spain (Hetalia), Mild Sexual Content, Minor Canada/France (Hetalia), Minor Germany/North Italy (Hetalia), Nurses, Oranges, Party, Pervert France (Hetalia), Pervertibles, Pet Names, Poor France (Hetalia), Protective England (Hetalia), Protectiveness, Public Humiliation, Punk England (Hetalia), Reading, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Romantic Gestures, Romantic Soulmates, Roses, Rough Kissing, Rumors, Sad, Same-Sex Marriage, Scary, Seduction, Self-Reflection, Sharing a Bed, Sickfic, Slow Dancing, Staring, Stockings, Stress Relief, Stripping, Sulking, Surprise Kissing, Surprises, Tea, Teasing, Tenderness, Threats, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Top England (Hetalia), Touching, True Love, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Watching, Watching Someone Sleep, Wedding Rings, Yaoi, attention seeking, ukfr - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:42:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27265900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MangaBitch/pseuds/MangaBitch
Summary: Other nations always assumed England to be the passive role in the relationship, due to his Tsundere nature and short temper. However, behind closed doors away from the prying eyes of the suspicious. He wasn't the cocky teasing person he always made himself out to be and France is softer than the flirtatious big brother everyone assumes
Relationships: England & France (Hetalia), England/France (Hetalia)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 57





	1. France wants love

**Author's Note:**

> You guys wanted more UKFR so I'm starting a trend, bottom France FTW

England hummed to himself under his breath to fill in the silence as he flipped through paperwork indifferently, carefully acknowledging every word and detail that may prove useful in later meetings about the subject. No mistakes could be afforded and he needed to take into consideration every possibility. No matter how many times he may needed to re-read something or flip through pages with highlighter, he would at least get his work done with priority. He could feel a headache forming from concentrating but he pushed it to the back of his mind, laying on his back sat upright as he positioned a pillow behind his back for support, his glasses rested atop his nose. Sometimes adult matters were priority over personal problems, his hand ached from all the editing and notes he had taken. Knowing he would sleep like a log when this had finally been completing. But he would cause tension if he made mistakes that some may take personally, writing messages of great importance to his fellow allied nations. It was his responsibility to keep up to date in all matter involving them, especially if they affected him, he had to do what was best for his citizens and his allies. He couldn't make selfish decisions, no he wasn't perfect but then none of the nations were without their flaws. He had to make sure all of his work was completed and nothing was ignored, otherwise, he would receive a bollocking from his bosses about it later. The less pressure he accumulated on himself, the less he would neglect his work and would be able to get everything done smoothly.

Francis leaned against the doorway silently, pouting defiantly as he watched his husband pour-over paperwork. Though he had kept himself busy as to not interrupt his husband which would lead to mistakes. But it was becoming problematic of how Arthur's work was becoming a priority over everything else in his life, how ignorant he was becoming to everything else important in his life. His gaze fixated to the point he was blissfully unaware to the world around him, he could have been walking around the house naked or in nothing but an apron but he wouldn't have the slightest clue. He could play a multitude of pranks on England and he wouldn't even notice, which he could use to his advantage but he was attempting to be mature. Arthur had been working all morning without interruption, pouring his heart and soul into getting everything completed. Wanting to make headway as to get everything prepared to give himself more free time when it was all over. He'd already completed half his work and it was already the mid-afternoon, which was nothing to scoff at. But this wasn't healthy, pulling all nighters and working non stop would cause issues with one's sanity and psyche. Surely most sane people would call it quits and treat themselves to a much-needed break, hydrating themselves and getting a snack to reform their blood sugar lost while focusing.

He rolled his eyes and frowned, England needed to call quits or he would give himself a headache or cause himself to pass out from exhaustion. Everyone had a personal limit and England would inevitably hit his own sooner or later. Lowering his blood sugar due to a lack of eating or stress himself out from overloading his brain. He refused to watch while he continued with this stupid endevour. Yes, he admitted he had selfish reasons behind this, hell, above all things he needed to pay attention to him, his damn husband. He wanted alone time to bond, cuddle and just act like a couple, was that too much to ask for? He was beyond proud to see England being responsible and mature, it was another reason why he loved the stubborn fool so much. Focusing on the work his boss had given him to complete, but he wasn't pleased about being neglected as the consequence of this. He had needs, emotions and separation anxiety, he missed spending time with him, being domestic and the general affection they always shared with each other. Knowing that they could go about their day and still feel loved by one another. Was that so wrong? Just to be reminded that he was loved? He huffed under his breath approaching England, if he couldn't realise this by himself he would need to be reminded.

He slumped onto the sofa, collapsing from the armrest to land face-first into he cushy material, a soft oof escaping his lips from the contact. Tempted to lay in this position and reflect until he felt like getting up again, but he had more crucial matters at hand. He shifted up the sofa like a caterpillar to position himself on England's lap, laying on his husband like a cat, enjoying the softness and warmth of his body. England's scent wafted from him like a heavenly perfume, though he would never admit it aloud, Arthur was also partial to wearing cologne's occasionally. A habit he had picked up from France growing up, which he had always admired. He buried himself against England's lap, the softness of his thighs acting as a makeshift pillow. Gazing up at him with his big blue eyes patiently, batting his eyelashes with a puppy dog expression, a very obvious pout on his lips, the frustration gleaming behind his eyes. Hoping that finally Arthur would understand his silent communication, venting to his husband as much displeasure as he could muster.

England blinked, now sensing the weight on his legs and peered down in confusion, wondering whom had disturbed him while he was attempting to review his work. His eyes widened in surprise to find France perched on his lap and staring back at him. This was not what he had been expecting but it was a welcomed surprise indeed, he felt his cheeks heat with a light blush, he looked bloody adorable. His heart ached with love for the Frenchman and he felt himself wanting to laugh in amusement. However, the way he was positioned was highly suggestable, but he pushed his perverse thoughts to the back of his mind to prevent himself from being teased. He sighed heavily in defeat, knowing he couldn't get out of this situation, tossing his paperwork to the side and placing his glasses atop it. He knew France wouldn't bugger off until he was spoiled, when he wanted something you could never change Francis's mind.

Francis had every reason to be upset at him and this had been coming for a while, there was only so much patience a person could have. His work had been swallowing up his time and France had been patient until now, having finally reached his limit. But he was voicing his unhappiness at being neglected, he wouldn't budge until he got what he wanted. He then lowered his hand to France's head, stroking his hair, running his fingers through his golden waves affectionately, a fond smile on his face. Yes he often berated and got annoyed at France for showing off and boasting about how handsome and charming he was. His own hair had always been thick but unquaft and tousled. Often having a style labelled permanent bed head but at least he could pull it off, which wasn't common for all people. He'd always loved and yet envied how soft France's hair was, how blessed he was with such perfect hair. He knew Francis had been lonely all this time, he felt neglected and unwanted, he was simply being more blunt with his message this time, so he couldn't ignore the subtle hints anymore.

France immediately perked up at the contact, his body relaxing and his expression softening, nuzzling against England's hand, his gaze becoming fond and affectionate. You could almost hear the silent purring escaping his lips and filling the silence. Imagining a pair of fuzzy ears twitching atop his head as his head was scratched. He knew there was a trend in Japan's culture about males and females having feline attributes, though it wasn't something he took an interest in, he admitted it would suit someone like France. England bit his lip attempting not to laugh from amusement at the mental image, his lover whether he was aware or not, was behaving similarly to that of a feline seeking attention. Though he had to admit this behaviour was beyond adorable


	2. Mushy git

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So whenever I see a FRUK drunk fic it's always England making an arse of himself or being Tsundere. I decided to do a drunk UKFR fic but of England actually being a cutie, because there isn't enough of it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You aren't prepared for the fluff

France growled lowly under his breath, wondering how he had tolerated this for all these centuries, why he could never leave England to his own devices and relieve himself of this stress. For as long as he had known England, he could never be left to drink alone as his tolerance grew weaker. Remembering how he used to be able to walk out of a bar and no matter how much he drank not a single drop could touch him. How he could flash a sweet smile at someone and they would turn weak in the knees. How had England not become banned from a bar yet because of his antics? How had nobody recognised him when he walked down the street? The blessing of being a nation mean they could blend into society without anyone ever knowing their true identity.

But when had matters changed? When had England turned into this obnoxious drunk that became a hindrance to take care of? The person that other nations cringed at the very mention of and tended to attempt to block from their memory? How this had become a habitual behaviour for him that had become a part of their routine, something they had adapted to? Surely in all these years England would have picked up habits and learned to take care of himself. Being able to cut off his tab and learn when he had enough to drink and needed to stop. To consider eating something through the night and fill his empty stomach instead of binge drinking and believing himself to be invincible. Here he found himself in a familiar situation, dragging a drunken England along a dimly lit street with his arm over his shoulder and wondering how he got himself into this mess. Wishing he could go back in time and convince England to be able to get himself home alone and sensible. Protecting England from endangering himself and France being forced into the position of babysitter to ease his own anxieties. Why did a country infamous for being a bunch of drunks have such a poor alcohol tolerance, hell if anything, Europe was aware of how Brits had a higher drinking tolerance. There was an entire culture of drinking infamous in the UK that even Australia could appreciate.

England's culture of drinking was often comedic and yet appreciated by many, the citizens of the nation were rather open about the drinking culture they surrounded themselves in. England tended to repress or forget the memories of his actions despite the fact that he could never escape them. But other nations tended to tease England about this much to his chagrin. Perhaps it was age kicking in when England was a pirate in his former youth, England could drink anyone under the table, how things had changed. It was common that drinking often caused regrettable and amusing memories, when it was supposed to help you forget their worries and stresses. The irony of it all was something that anyone could mock. He'd been taking care of England since their adolescence, come high wind or weather, unfortunately these days it consisted more of drinking than genuine troubles that plagued his life. It seemed England had become more reliable and sensible, though his current political climate had been causing England more struggles than he let on. "You really need to lay off the alcohol Angleterre" France sighed wearily, going on the wagon was a suggestion he highly recommended to England.

England hummed drunkenly, hiccupping under his breath as he staggered down the street, his gaze was blurry and the lights felt too bright. The darkness surrounding him, the cold stone beneath his feet, the echoing silence of the empty streets. The cold night air tickling his cheeks, the hollow feeling in his stomach, the alcohol filling his senses, this comfortable numbness. The fragrant scent of France's perfume wafting up to his nose, the alluring scent that lingered on France's skin, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. Everything felt like a mess right now, he could barely remember past the first couple of drinks and arriving at the bar. Everything had blurred together, becoming a mess of colours and laughter that didn't make sense. But the familiarity of France was something he could never forget, he was too deeply imprinted onto his psyche, a playful smile danced on his lips "Ya… smell… guuuud…. Fr… ance…" he slurred.

France sighed, here came nostalgic England, he was always prepared for this side of the Englishman. The no filter drunk that spoke whatever came to mind no matter how inappropriate the topic may become. But then his sense of smell was all he could rely on now that his other senses had been dulled due to the alcohol in his system "It was expensive so I hope so" he groaned. France only had the best tastes in wine, food, perfume and clothing, priding himself on his culture and sense of style. He called himself big brother because he wanted to present himself as a good influence to other nations. But England tended to appreciate this on a different level when he was drunk, causing France to respond with sarcasm.

England chuckled, though he claimed to hate France, deep down he was someone he could never hate. Sure there were traits and hobbies he had developed over the centuries that annoyed him, but he could never bring himself to despise France. Everyone else abandoned him, everyone else forgot and left him behind, moving on from him and acting as though he was a stranger, despite their strong historical bonds in their development as a nation. After becoming neutral and isolating himself, everyone mocked him and teased him. Calling him the black sheep of Europe, the perverse ambassador, a slue of nicknames made in mockery that they didn't realise hurt him more than he let on. Feeling as though he was the punching bag and joke of the world.

But there were those who remained and new allies he formed that ended up bonding him in ways he never forget. Belarus, the younger sister of Russia had become one of his biggest allies and friends, based on a mutual loneliness and love of magic, witchcraft and folklore. Though she still harboured a cold demeanor, she showed a subtle softness around him. Canada remained loyal, part of the British commonwealth, a close ally and helping him during the civil wars. They were able to bond emotionally and shared similar cultures, allowing them to bond as people. Canada shared his emotional maturity, intellect and had become an admirable nation. He was able to build allies with Japan and other nations, forming friendships he had always longed for. But France remained, for whatever reason he still stayed, he could have discarded him, moved on and found something better. France still loved him, he needed only to look into his eyes and know that France was someone he could rely on. A place he could return to and feel safe "yew… aways….*hic* luk after meh…" he mumbled.

France sighed, he could never abandon England as he worried too much about him, able to see the softer fragile core of the Englishman that he sealed away from others in a form of self defence. Though England denied this statement, it was a truth he couldn't run away from, that he was plagued by loneliness. "Oui, ever since we were kids" he agreed. His mind reflecting to the memories of England as a small nation with cherubic pink cheeks, giant green eyes and a tattered green cloak around his neck. Hiding in the woods and relying on himself to survive, becoming defensive when a stranger would approach. He would never be able to unsee England as the naive child he was, yet admire the man he had become. Nobody else would, nobody else understood England the way he did, the only person who came close was Spain. Though it would gnaw away at the likes of America and cause jealousy to spike, it was a truth he had to accept.

England's eyes watered over slightly, his hidden emotions rising to the surface. France always spoke words of wisdom, he stood up for him despite his occasional teasing. They had a mutual perverse streak, a love of art and good literature, hobbies that connected them on a personal level. France's title as a big brother had accurately described his childhood, visiting him and acting as his family when he felt alone and forgotten. Forming a love in his heart that at times he denied but at the same time felt a sense of pride in. "I… luv… ye…" England hiccuped, the words slipping from his lips before he could stop himself. Yes he was becoming a romantic softy when he was drunk, but the words were no less true. France was one of the few people who truly loved him, accepting every single one of his flaws. France berated him at times out of worry and sometimes he mocked him, but it wasn't as though he didn't do the same. They had been friends long before they accepted their feelings and became a married couple, their relationship forming naturally over time.

France sighed "Oui, Je t'aime aussi" he sighed, the sentimental drunk had arrived. England could be childish, stubborn and often pragmatic, but he had a good heart beneath it all. He accepted his responsibilities and though it took him time, he wholeheartedly apologized and put thought into his words. There were even times England punished himself too severely for his mistakes because he felt responsible. He was a complicated man but it made him more human, more flawed. He loved England as he was and that would never change, he couldn't often put into words the reason why he loved England but that was the beauty of it.

"yer soft hair….. your stupid perfume…..yer dumb smile…." England slurred. France had always had beautiful hair, the the extent that during their childhood France had been mistaken for a girl. He always carried the scent of roses, wearing a charming smile that made his heart flutter. He often mocked France for being too effeminate but in reality they were words of endearment and jealousy, he was all too aware of what a beauty France was. How blessed he felt that France was his soulmate, despite at times having doubt that France could possibly love someone like him.

France blushed, coughing under his breath hoping his embarrassment wasn't painfully obvious. Stumbling over his words like a schoolgirl in love, his mouth suddenly dryer than he remembered. Though England was incoherently drunk, the words uttered from his mouth were rather sweet compared to his usual drunken rambles. He hadn't expected to see this side of England and wondered if he was attempting to seduce him, for though he hated to admit it, it was working. England was infamous for his silver tongue and mischievous words that left people flustered. He was rather stunned for a response, praying England wouldn't remember this.

England sniggered under his breath, a brief leer appearing on his lips "yer nice arse…. How cute yew luk when ya….*hic* cry or blush…" he muttered. There was a reason he stared at France so much, why he got angry when other people leered at his husband, France was a catch. The way he cupped France's butt and loved the feel of it under his fingers. The way his face would colour to match the roses he loved so much when he was embarrassed, which England found endearing. How he couldn't help but tease France into crying or blushing because it was too bloody adorable.

"Angleterre" France trailed off, though awkward this was indeed what they called a heart to heart. However, he felt a weight press against him as England slumped forward and fell asleep. His drunken stupor had fallen to an end thus came the comatose sleep, but he would indeed regret his actions come the morning after. A glass of water would be needed when he got home, to fill his empty stomach the following day brought on by his drinking. France had cared for him numerous times and new exactly how to cure a hangover. France sighed before he had gotten an answer, England had hit his limit, it was inevitable and something he had been expecting to happen. However, things had transpired differently than usual.

He lowered England, shifting to position England onto his back, cupping him underneath his bottom and hooking his legs across his hips. Piggybacking him home to their shared house, making sure he was stable. Though compared to their usual drunken antics, he admittedly had fun tonight, rather than it feeling tedious and annoying. Smirking in amusement as he reflected on the night's events, bringing them closer than he expecting, giving him ammunition to tease England over later on. This had to be the cutest thing England had said while he was drunk, usually, he would complain and reminisce about America's betrayal and fast development. Bringing up America and how he felt abandoned whenever possible and sobbing into the night until he passed out. But not once had the american slipped past his lips, nor had he been reflecting on his adolescence and youth as a nation. But this time he had spoken about his affections for France, albeit in a strange manner. He would be sure to remind England come morning, just for the look of utter embarrassment on his face. Denying that he could possibly say such mushy things, despite how charming England could behave when sober. "Honestly, I knew he was a softy deep down" France chuckled, turning his head subtly to nuzzle against England fondly.


	3. Nurse calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> France finds himself sick with a summer cold, sulking at his rotten luck. England decides to take care of his sick hubby, France has no complaints

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is never enough fanwork of England in nurse cosplay

France panted heavily, his head was spinning like a top and his body felt like a led weight, the world felt distorted and strange. His senses we dulled, he was exhausted and the raging fire inside of him never seemed to end. Coughing occasionally and gazing out of the window to appreciate the world outside, the place he took for granted when he was healthy. No matter how much he took care of himself, nothing could ever prepare him for re-experiencing the crappiness of being ill. Feeling like a flat battery, losing all of his energy and being helpless to do anything about it. Bored out of his mind and trying to think of things to do that didn't consist of binging Netflix, every small hobby becoming boring and frustrating. He couldn't move, he couldn't summon any vestige of strength to accomplish even the smallest of tasks, he felt like a toddler learning to walk for the first time. Knowing he had to rely on England until he was at full strength. Placing his phone on silent so that nobody could disturb or annoy him while he was in recovery. Pinned to the mattress as cold shivers ran through his body, his breathing ragged, brushing his greasy and damp hair from his face. His body radiated heat and he felt as though he was suffocating, the fever burning his skin, the stickiness of sweat as his body continued to battle the virus within him. Balancing between kicking of his blankets due to feeling too warm and wrapping himself into a cocoon because cold chills were freezing him to death. His pyjama's clinging to him like a second skin, drenched in his sweat, though he didn't have the energy to change. He needed a bath, water, or even a shower, anything to make himself feel more comfortable. He needed to relieve himself of the sweat caused by the fever and put on some clean bedwear, like hell he would be able to sleep in this state. How had he gotten himself into this mess? Why did he have to endure this crappiness? Stewing in self pity and waiting for his body to recover so he felt back to full health again. By sod's law as England would call it, he had managed to become infected with a cold, leaving him bedridden for the next week or so, draining him of all his energy. Of all people he was the one to get sick? Not America who ate like crap all the time, constantly found himself in trouble and made endless bad choices? He'd jump into cold water naked as a dare and get sick. But more so the time of year for getting sick was ridiculous, why not in the winter when it was normal for such things? Why of all times did it have to be in the summer when it was unbearably hot and he wanted to be sociable?

"Nom de Dieu, of course, I had to get sick during summer of all times" France groaned hoarsely, rolling over and wiping his forehead with his sleeve. Yanking at his pyjama collar in hopes of airing his body out a little. He was confined to his room until he got better, he couldn't go out and have any fun whatsoever. Everyone had sent messages of get well soon and understanding why he had to cancel, offering to rearrange plans etc. Which in turn only made him feel worse about getting sick. He had hoped to attend a fireworks festival with Japan which he would now have to cancel, the warm humidity of Japan's summer, eating shaved ice, going to the beach and wearing a traditional Kimono and enjoying the stalls and fireworks. He felt so guilty despite Japan being so understanding and saying his health came first. He couldn't visit one of his beloved beaches and enjoy the warm sandy beaches and sunshine, sipping wine or being able to wander through the countryside. Visiting markets and exploring the hidden gems of his home nation. He wouldn't be able to take a holiday to a summer cottage with England as he had planned, going away for a while and having a romantic holiday. Sitting by a log fire, sipping wine together and making more memories. They had been looking forward to it for ages and now he'd spoiled everything, despite England being able to get reimbursed for the expenses and simply rearranging the dates. He'd been so looking forward to it too. All of his hopes for summer were now nothing but dreams, wasted because he was ill. The best time of the year when festivals, beach trips and parties were rampant he was left out because he was ill. This had to be karma from someone in the universe, punishing him for being too happy. He was trapped in bed and he was bored out of his mind, looking for ways to pass the time so he didn't go insane from the lack of brain stimulation. His appetite was poor, barely able to stomach anything, merely wishing to hide underneath blankets and sulk. Sleep helped him regain some energy for a while but in short bursts, it would be a while before he fully recovered. He felt nauseous and was lucky to manage anything to stay down without feeling awful, unable to enjoy food like he used to. Chills running down his body constantly, so no matter how high his fever got he felt perpetually cold, desperate for some relief from his chills. A warm body or hot water bottle to cuddle in hopes of relieving his chills. He hated getting sick, it was so gross and horrific, he probably looked an utter disaster. The complete opposite from his usual well groomed, best dressed self. Being ill was the worst thing ever, helpless to do anything but wait it out.

Suddenly the bedroom door opened with a soft creak, dragging him from the misery of boredom and self pity. Wondering who could have visited to entertain him for a while in hopes of entertaining him. He turned his head weakly with a light groan in the direction of the sound, his gaze foggy, barely able to make out who was standing in front of him. England popped his head in the door, a warm smile on his face, he knew France had been napping quite a bit which would help him recover faster. He knew he was grumpy due to feeling fed up from his cold and upset at all the cancellations he had been forced to make. But these things happened and there was nothing they could do about it. But they could always reschedule, they hadn't put the deposit down on the cottage which meant they merely had to book once Francis was better. Japan had been very understanding and even sent a fruit basket which was most helpful. Canada had called and sent his love, America was shocked but teased France in his own way. This wasn't the end of the world though it was problematic, things like this couldn't he helped. His usually cheeky smile filled with sympathy and concern, though he did enjoy teasing France and sharing banter with him. He knew France was genuinely miserable and feeling crappy due to his cold. The last thing he wanted was to be made fun of or made to feel worse, he needed cheering up "Hey poppet, how are you feeling?" he asked softly. He'd been pottering around the house all day and even ran some errands, knowing France would need all the rest he could get to recover from his summer cold. He'd gotten a few things while he was out and was even able to call his brother Alistair while he was gone. Though it was quieter around the house without Francis to keep him company. France pouted sulkily in response, he knew England wasn't teasing him, he'd been so quiet all day as to not disturb him and even gone out to get some jobs done. He felt so blessed to have a husband who took care of him and gave him space while he was sick. He just felt so bitter that England was the one being all cheery and energetic while he felt like crap. Jealous that he was still optimum health, free to do whatever he wanted while he was the complete opposite. England couldn't help but chuckle at the childish expression his husband was wearing, it was utterly adorable. France was throwing a tantrum because he was fed up with being sick and wanted to go outside. But at least he was being reasonable and taking his health into consideration. If Spain, Prussia or even America could see him acting so immature they would crack up laughing, seeing the self entitled "big brother" acting like an utter child. He folded his arms, leaning against the doorway in amusement, watching his husband with endearment, falling in love all over again. After all as the saying went, in sickness and in health. "Looks like I'm playing nurse then pet" he joked, grinning mischievously, he was going to have fun with this and there wasn't a thing Francis could do to stop him and he knew it. France panicked, a cold chill running down his spine and not just from the fever, this had to be a punishment, this wasn't fair. Screaming internally from fear and wanting to run away as fast as he could, wishing someone else could be here to take care of him instead, at least with meals. England was infamous for his terrible cooking, if he ate it while sick he was sure his fever would worsen.

* * *

France's face flushed a crimson red, matching the roses he loved so much, choking on his breath and his eyes widened like saucers. His mouth became dryer and he licked his lips awkwardly. Nearly falling out of bed from shock and thanking every deity he could think of for this gift, he was undeserving. He felt his mind spinning, was this a fever dream brought on by the cold, was he hallucinating perchance as his brain fried? He was sure this was something concocted by his brain while he was ill and if he told England about it he would look at him oddly and chalk it up to a dirty dream. There was no way this could be real, I mean he would have to beg England for this to happen. Either way, he could die happy with this memory for the rest of his life, that is if he wasn't immortal. England strolled into the room, wearing a cheeky smile on his face, he could sense France's eyes on him and he was loving it. If this didn't stop France from sulking over his cold he didn't know what would. Dressed up in a pale pink nurse costume, the top buttons undone slightly to reveal his chest, the skirt reaching just below his upper thigh, leaving little to the imagination. If he bent over just a little France knew the Eiffel tower would be at full mast, there was no way a professional trained nurse would wear such a thing. A pair of white stockings on his legs reaching his upper thighs held together by a garter belt, followed by a cute little cap on his head and small nurse sandals. He had a feeling Japan may have been involved with the gift, probably in an attempt to cheer France up while he was sick. Reminding himself to send a gift and thank you letter to Japan for this once he was well enough. England looked like sin incarnate and he knew it, he was owning the costume, showing no shame in what he was doing. He doubted England could look bad in any costume, his sex appeal when he switched personalities was unmatched. As much as other nations and himself occasionally teased him for his past and hobbies, sometimes being married to the perverted ambassador had its merits.

England leaned over across his bed, his green eyes gazing down at him mischievously, knowing he was riling up France and he was reveling every second of it. There wasn't a thing France could do to stop him and maybe now he would stop sulking. "Here's some ice to help with that temperature" he responded in a sing-song tone, placing the icepack on his forehead. France was so adorable when he was flustered and speechless, despite being the older one in the relationship and as a nation, he was capable of immaturity and childish habits. It was simply that England showed this side of himself more often. France sighed in relief, the coolness of the ice pack felt wonderful with his fever, imagining clouds of smoke erupting from his ears as the heat evapourated from his body. Cooling his fever fried brain, but he was still blushing at the sight of England, aware he was staring. He didn't know if he would ever be this lucky again in his life, he never wanted this moment to end and the minute this fever would be gone, so would this cosplay. England placed a tray beside France's bed quietly, making sure not to spill anything after the time and effort it took into preparing the meal. A steaming bowl of homemade chicken soup smelled heavenly, making France's stomach gurgle slightly, realising his own hunger. A huge glass of fresh orange juice, ice water and some medicine beside it, all foods that were historically great for colds. The vitamins and nourishment his body needed to recover the energy lost fighting this cold. His mouth watered at the sight

England pulled up France's blanket, tucking him in carefully, making sure he was settled and wouldn't get cold. He was sweating so much he would worsen his fever if he got too cold. But his fever wouldn't allow him to notice, meaning he would have to give him a bed bath later. For now attempting to eat was the best he could do, it was at least the smallest proof he was getting better "You need to eat to keep up your strength, doctors orders" he winked. Though historically, England was known for his bloody awful cooking that everyone loved to mock, America constantly berating him for how boring or gross his food was. Nobody ever wanting to come over for dinner or asking him why his taste in food was so awful. Only Japan, Belarus and Canada were aware of how England was capable of making edible food, though they would never tell anyone. Japan had been pleasantly surprised and even asked for some recipes to make for himself. Canada had always known, given for a short period he lived with England after the civil war before he gained independence after England gave it to him for his loyalty. Belarus was surprised and even asked for some of his recipes too, but asked if she should kill America lying about his talents for so long. England suffered badly from anxiety, which worsened under stress causing him to make mistakes, often burning his food by not paying attention to the oven, wrong ingredients or spacing out due to anxiety. Having distractions didn't help matters either, America pestering him so often that he ended up unintentionally ruining his cooking. When he was in his element, able to breathe and focus, he was immensely good at cooking. Though it lacked the fanciful nature of his neighbours, he put love into his cooking, baking tended to be a specialty. The recipe came from one he learned growing up that had always been good when he was sick

France laughed weakly, he could get used to this, though he knew England would become an arse if he so much as muttered something along those lines. Pouring hot soup all over him and pretending it was a mistake. Seeing England in a nurses outfit, maybe when he wasn't so ill perhaps he could appreciate it better, maybe it was something he could suggest when he was feeling braver. He slowly tried to sit up to take his medication, perhaps then he could enjoy a nice nap as he had lost a lot of sleep due to becoming too warm. England placed a hand on his chest preventing him from rising, he knew France was already weak, if he pushed himself further he would only prolong his cold. "Allow me pet" England smirked, he'd taken care of Canada and America plenty of times as children. Though with Francis he could at least have a little fun with it. France looked confused, blinking at him in confusion, wondering what he was up to. He just wanted to eat what he could manage while he had a brief appetite. England popped the medicine into his mouth, grabbing the ice water and downing it in one gulp, making sure not to swallow the liquid. He then grabbed France by the back of the head, kissing him roughly to which France moaned slightly and blushed. Making sure he swallowed and didn't spill any of the fluids, he needed to rehydrate as much as possible. The icy water pouring down his parched throat, cooling him blessedly, barely noticing the medicine he took, his face darkened, as England's soft lips pressed against his own, making it hard to focus. Though he worried about getting England sick with his cold, he was too distracted to care.

England slowly pulled away, water slightly dripping from both of their lips, gazing back at France with a half lidded gaze. France stared at him in a daze, leaning against his pillow with wide blue eyes. If England was trying to tease him or rile him up, he was doing a good job. He didn't doubt his dreams would be filled with perverted thoughts thanks to England. England wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, still smirking like a cat "Good boy, you took your medicine" he teased.

France winced, England was loving every second of this and he knew it, he was in control and France was just supposed to behave. He had managed to take his medicine but he felt as though he had been tricked. England had kissed him and knew it would confuse him, meaning he couldn't complain about taking it. He was too weak to fully appreciate this moment and it felt like England was taunting him, belittling him rather than being supportive. He'd rather attempt to down the soup and then go to sleep just to spite England so he couldn't have any more fun. His pout worsening, fed up with England playing these games with him "Will you be feeding me too Angleterre?" he scoffed.

England smiled, he knew France was grumpy and probably thought he was making fun of him. Francis was bored off his face and he was exhausted, so he thought perhaps he would appreciate this little situation to make him feel better. He'd asked for a favour from Japan and though as strange as it must have sounded, it was paying off. He wasn't naïve to the fact Francis had tented under the sheets. But he would continue to mess with Francis, "We don't want you making a mess do we?" he responded playfully. He sat beside France quietly, placing the tray on his lap and carefully feeding France, making sure not to spill anything on him. Knowing he would be too weak to hold such a hot bowl on his lap, he could barely sit up without the pillow to support his back. France weakly opened his mouth to accept the hot soup, enjoying the savoury, salty and herby taste of the broth, the taste of the softened vegetables, stock and pieces of chicken. Feeling a minority of his strength returning to him, clearing his nasal passages slightly and filling his empty stomach, god this tasted so good. France slowly swallowed his soup contently, enjoying being able to consume something with taste. He couldn't wait to finally eat solid food but for now he had to manage with what his body would allow him to. If he pushed it he knew he would pay the consequences later on. Watching England quietly, his eyes lightly clouded with lust, drinking in all of his figure and those sparkling green eyes. He had to admit, being spoiled was rather fun sometimes, especially by a charming Englishman.

**Nom de dieu-God damn it**

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys have chapter requests let me know in the comments


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